


Rum On The Rocks

by Earth_Phoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Harry, Boys In Love, Death Wish, Depressed Harry, Depressing, Depression, F/M, Falling In Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Homosexuality, I'm Sorry, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Manipulation, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Sad Harry, Travel, Voldemort Dies, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earth_Phoenix/pseuds/Earth_Phoenix
Summary: Harry Potter is suffering from PTSD and self-medicating with alcohol. After a fight with fiance Ginny, he leaves to get some "space."Draco finds Harry, drunk and without any idea where he is.Can Draco help Harry find peace with the events at the Battle of Hogwarts and find sobriety? Or is Harry too far gone?





	1. One

Ginny sat on rim of the bathtub, the straps of her silver dress hanging lifelessly on her arms, her carefully curled hair now hang in loose ringlets around her face. The steam rolled of the water, she hadn’t meant to run it so hot. Carefully she reached over and turned the tap. The squeak of the metal turning the only sound in the room. With the water off, she could now hear Harry slamming kitchen cupboard doors and the sound of glass smashing. He must have thrown a tumbler, she mused.

Tonight, was supposed to be a celebration, it was supposed to be a happy night. It was the night they announced their engagement. The evening had started out so well, Ginny had never felt so glamorous. The silver dress, hugged her body and sparkled with every move she made, the robe she had worn over it had made her look even more elegant. Her hair and make up had been expertly styled by professionals hired just for this evening.

The beginning of the evening had been a dream, and then the dark cloud that had been hanging over them for the past year and descended. Ginny rubbed her wet eyes, cursing herself. She should have never suggested they get married, marriage wasn’t a plaster. It wouldn’t magically fix everything wrong with their relationship. Arguments had turned into shouting matches which turned into screaming matches. Standing the middle of the living room, her father holding her back as she and Harry hurled insults at each other had poured cold water on her. She couldn’t believe how low they had sunk. The look in her mother’s eyes. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to forget that look.

She opened her eyes and clasped her hands together. The ring Harry had given her sparkled in the harsh light of the bathroom. It was beautiful, a diamond mounted on a gold and silver band. She ha no idea how they can come to this. How could their love turn into something so rotten?

‘Ginny, dear?’ She jumped, startled.

‘Mum…,’ So lost in her own thoughts had she become, she not heard her mother walk into her room, had no idea her mother was still even in the house even. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘Oh, Ginny.’ Molly sat in front of her daughter and the pulled the girl into her arms. Ginny’s whole body shook with sobs. Molly sighed and just held her, rubbing slow circles onto her daughter’s back, whispering words of comfort into her ear.

~*~

Harry sat on the edge of the kitchen counter. Bottles of Fire Whiskey and aged Ale cluttered around him. He had _accio’d_ every bottle of alcohol he could think of to him, even the ones he knew Ginny had hidden because of his “problem.”

Harry could honestly say had no idea what kicked off this latest fight. Everything had been going fine. People had congratulated them, Ginny had seemed happy enough. Ron and Hermione had turned up, making the evening that bit more bearable. Everything seemed more bearable when they were around. Ever since the war had ended three years ago, Harry had avoided crowds and parties. He didn’t want to be praised, as tendered to happen when he showed up. It made him sick when people told them how proud, how _grateful_ they were to him for being a murderer. As far as he was concerned, the public could shove their thanks up their backsides.

Ginny though, Ginny loved the parties. Anytime Harry declined an invitation she was unhappy and went alone. Harry assumed she was doing it to try and spite him, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. If Ginny wanted to party, she was more than welcome to do so. If she wanted to bask in the thanks of the public, then she could go ahead and bask. Harry felt no desire to join in her that, whatsoever.

Harry had finished the Elf Matured Wine and moved on to aged bottles of Ale he had hidden away in the garden (and he had to hide them, because otherwise Ginny would take them away from him), when his favourite headache had her mother walked into the kitchen.

‘Merlin damnit, are you seriously drinking? Haven’t we talked about this?’ Ginny rubbed her forehead, she had thought she had hidden or thrown away all of Harry’s alcohol, but no, the Saviour just _had_ to drink.

‘I thought we also agreed tonight was about having _fun_ , and I am.’ Harry raised a bottle in salute.

Ginny turned to Molly frustration ‘You see? You see what I’m putting up with?!’

‘You’re “putting up” with me? That’s rich.’ Harry spat, if she felt that way, why hadn’t she left?

‘What the hell would you call this? I try to help you, and this is your answer to it.’ Ginny placed her hands on her hips, looking like a younger version of Molly. Harry sneered at her, there was no way in hell was becoming a cuck like Arthur.

‘Help me? How is taking away my alcohol helping? Who even asked you to help?’

‘I love you, you didn’t have to ask, because helping each other is what people in love do.’

‘Love? That is what you call this mess?’

‘Enough,’ Molly closed her eyes, counted to ten and then looked between the warring couple. Merlin, these two wanted to get married? ‘Enough, now. If you can’t talk like the adults you are, then you have no business acting like adults. I will make you both sit in different corners until you've calmed down.' 

‘It’s alright mum, I was going to leave anyway.’Ginny spat. 

‘Ha, if you stay gone longer than a week, I’ll be impressed. You and I both know you love this life more than you love me.’

‘You think I love your money? Is that how little you think of me?’

‘Darling it’s the truth. Who paid for tonight’s front-page drama? I did. The endless shopping trips you just _have_ to go on – I did. That dress, your new top of the range broom – you love the money and status I provide.’

Ginny’s hand was on her wand faster than she realised. The tip of a very nasty hex on her lips.

‘ _Harry_ ,’ Molly marched over the young man she had long ago taken in as her own, and smacked him hard, upside the head. ‘I would think you knew Ginny better than that. I do not know what going on with the two of you, but it stops now, this childishness ends, right now.’

‘You’re right, I’m going to pack a bag.’ Ginny whispered. Defeated.

‘No, don’t,’ Harry hopped of the counter top and brushed past the two women he had once considered important in his life. ‘I’ll go, I’m sick of this place anyway.’

Harry vanished in loud _Crack_! That ripped through the silence of the kitchen. Molly and Ginny stared at each other for a long moment, waiting to see if Harry would return. Minutes ticked by.

‘He’s coming back, isn’t he mum?’ Harry couldn’t just _go_. He had no where to go! Not unless we went to Ron and Hermione’s and Ginny doubted he would that. The Hero had his pride after all.

‘Honey, I think you should go to bed. You and Harry both need to calm down and everything will look better in the morning.’ Molly walked back over to her daughter and gently walked her from the kitchen.

‘No, I’m going to wait for him to get back.’ Molly watched helplessly as Ginny re-entered the kitchen, sitting down with her back against the table; facing the doorway, waiting for Harry’s return.

~*~

It took a week before the Prophet discovered that the Harry Potter Destroyer-of- You-Know-Who and Savoir of them all had disappeared. No one seemed to know where the boy hero had gone, and Prophet carried the story on multiple pages, seemingly enjoying the fact Harry had given them something new to print.

Draco Malfoy read the latest headline _Harry Potter Spotted in France?_ With mounting incredulity. He hadn’t been invited Harry’s engagement party on the night he had disappeared. He and Potter had never been friends and while, after the war, Harry had defended him and his family; there was still an air of tension that surrounded them. Six years of disliking each other did not make for a good friendship – even if you both ended up on the same side in the end. Draco folded the paper and tossed it in the trash. If Harry Potter was in France, Draco would have heard about it by now.

Lucius had relocated the family to their Manor in the outskirts of the beautiful town, Lourmarin, located in the south of France. Draco lived there until recentl, when he finally allowed himself a treat and brought this beautiful stone town house in Venasque. It was close enough to his parents and allowed him his own freedom. It was, in a word, perfect.

Surely, Potter, of all people had manged to escape the pressures the Ministry hoped to place on him? The Ministry, as far as Draco was aware; had offered Harry a place on the Auror Training Programme without him needing to complete Hogwarts. If Harry wasn’t careful, he’d be Head Auror and then Minister of Magic if his popularity held and Draco had a feeling it would. Bloody Potter.

No, the smartest thing Harry could’ve done was remove himself completely from all that nonsense, find his own private sanctuary and married that Weasley he was so fond off. They could have lived happily ever after. The beautiful blushing bride, the dashing hero – isn’t that what everyone thought of when they pictured the pair? It should have happened, something must have gone very wrong for it not to. Not that Draco cared.

 _Potter was missing_. The words repeated themselves inside of his brain until he was tired and fed up of it. If Harry couldn’t handle his own problems, that was his deal. Draco turned his face up to the sun, basking in it’s warm glow. Breakfasting on the balcony had been a splendid idea. To his left, the crystal blue pool water called to him. Smiling contently to himself, he ambled leisurely down to the pool, removing his lose sweat pants and shirt with a causal flick of his wand as he did so. A morning swimming in the pool sounded a great way to start the day.


	2. Two

_‘Avada Kedavra!'_

_‘Expelliarmus!’_

Harry awoke, bolting upright. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the two spells that haunted his dreams, turning them into nightmares he could never escape from.

Sunlight poured through the open window, temporarily disorienting him. He blinked, trying to remember where he was. Taking deep breathes to calm his racing heart, he thought back. Images of Spain floated into his tried brain. Right, he had been in Spain, but then – it clicked in his head. He had left Spain yesterday. His green eyes roamed around the suite he was staying in. It was over the top in luxury. The Dorchester. He has checked into the Dorchester in Los Angeles, late last night and had booked the Presidential Suite, thinking of Ginny has he had carelessly given the receptionist his name and Gringotts bank details. The pretty brunette had recognised who he was, and breathlessly handed him his room key, pale blue eyes lingering on him as he walked away.

Harry pressed his palms into his eyes, fighting back the images from the dream. Sometimes, in the dream, Harry cast the killing curse while Voldemort tried to defend himself. Who was to say that wasn’t true? Harry was unable to tell anymore. Had he really cast the curse? He might as well have. The result was still the same either way. Voldemort was dead, and he was to blame.

He roughly pushed the bedsheets aside and climbed out of the hotel bed. Stretching he headed straight for the hotel mini bar. Finding the fridge had refilled itself (or perhaps the house elfs had refilled it, Harry noticed a lack of empty bottles cluttering the bar) he helped himself to a bottle of vodka. Wandlessly he hexed the lid off, taking a long swing from the bottle, as memories washed over him.

The drinking had started when the Ministry had offered to allow Harry back to complete his seventh year or to join the Auror Training Programme. Ron had jumped at the chance to become an Auror, accepting the offer without a moment’s pause. It took Harry a month before he had decided, in the end, that it might be fun to join Ron. At least he would have a mate to hang out with.

During that month, job offers had poured in. Almost every team in the Quidditch League had invited him to try out for a place. Every ministry department wanted to hire him, every shop wanted him to be an investor. After a fortnight of this Harry had gone to nearest Muggle pub and drank. He couldn’t remember when or how he had gotten back to his small flat, but he had managed it somehow. The hangover killed him, but the relief – the relief of forgetting, the relief of being a normal eighteen-year-old for once had stayed with him. He could forget all about the war, the final battle, the endless job offers and expectations, just by drinking.

He did his part. He attended every hearing, defending those who turned from the Dark Lord and tried to help the Light. He saved the Malfoys from prison, pointing out that, without their help, he would have died.

To the shock of many, especially Ron, Harry dropped out of Auror Training less than six months after joining. Being around so many people, who felt the need to thank him every time he walked into a room had grown tiresome. His fingers itched to hold a bottle, to _forget_.

He travelled a bit. Hermione had called it “running away”, Harry called it “living.” Why should he be stuck on one place? It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to visit other countries, experience other ways of life. And he had, sort of, until he had been caught falling out of a bar in Texas, drunk out of his mind. Naturally, the Weasley’s had called him back and ended up living in The Burrow, surrounded by memories he was trying to forget, around people who wanted to _talk_ about the war. He had asked Ginny to live with him in an effort to escape.

Ginny had always understood him, always supported him and he believed that he had loved her. They were childhood sweethearts, of course he loved her. Ginny though, had also wanted to talk about the war, about how horrible Hogwarts had been, and Harry had no idea how to shut her up. He bought a bigger house and still she talked. He encouraged her to spend time with her friends, to consider taking up Quidditch professionally. When she had left to start her final year at school he could have sobbed with relief.

Harry began to put up walls. He ignored every Ministry letter, refused to answer his friend’s letters when they drifted into war talk and isolated himself from everything and everyone that reminded him of the war.

When Ginny returned home that summer, it was to discover a very different Harry Potter.

~*~

Harry slipped into the overcrowded club with ease. Head bowed, and muggle baseball cap pulled down over his eyes he headed straight for the back of the club, ignoring everyone around him. A few head turned towards him, bodies attempted to press up against him. Harry ignored them all. As promised, a table in the back was empty, unusual for this club, but perfect for his needs. The crowd of young people dancing thumping beat of the music made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He was the same, yet apart from them. In another life, he could have been one of them, dancing mindlessly to the music.

He snagged the table and then waited for his contact, his hands idly tapping on the table, keeping the beat to the music. His face had been splashed all over the papers and teen magazines, again. Lord only knew why Ginny was still keeping up the pretence that he was missing. He had sent her a detailed later explaining that he indeed to blow of some steam and wasn’t going to be home any time soon. Had she reported that to the press? Of course not, as soon as she told them that, the press attention would die back down and little miss attention whore just couldn’t have that. Harry snorted to himself, perhaps he should send her another letter – this one threatening to cut her off from the Potter account if she didn’t put of a stop of the madness. How the fuck was he supposed to have fun when he couldn’t even walk down the street without seeing his face staring back at from every shop window because the wizarding world thought he was missing?! Or maybe he could just send a letter straight the to _Prophet_. He dismissed the idea, even to him that sounded spiteful.

‘Why am I the one buying you beer?’ Harry looked up at the muffled voice. Zacharias Smith stood next to the table, holding out a pint of beer and wearing a scarf around the lower half of his face.

‘Because you owe me,’ Harry shrugged taking the pint glass and half downing it. ‘You might as well sit, you’re making the place look untidy.’

‘I would have thought,’ Zacharias sneered, continuing to stand ‘That the great, missing, Harry Potter could do just about anything he wanted.’

‘Oh yes, I’m so above the law I could become the next big evil, and no one would stop me.’ Harry rolled his eyes at Smith’s stupidity. ‘I hardly think so; besides I’d like to keep my whereabouts on the down low for the time being.’ The freedom to move about ached inside of him. The whispers of his current location had brought fangirls to him. Continued use of his name would only draw more people to him. He needed a new identity – temporarily. He needed people to back off and leave him the hell alone. _No peace for the wicked_ his mind supplied nastily.

‘Ah yes, you must be loving the fact that the world is worrying over you.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Ginny knows what I’m doing – more or less - and that I’m fine, she’s the one keeping the whole ‘missing’ thing going and there is nothing stopping you from telling the Prophet that I was here.’

‘True enough,’ Zacharias slid the false documents over to the green-eyed man. ‘Maybe I will, though I doubt I’d be believed, everyone thinks you’re in France.’

‘Tell them anyway, if nothing else it’ll confuse the fuck out of everyone.’ Harry stood, and dropped a bag of gallons on the table. ‘That should cover the cost, plus a tip of course.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Smith pocketed the money. ‘See you around.’ He disappeared back into the crowd. Harry finished his beer before doing the same.

~*~

Draco wasn’t following the Potter case, he was merely interested in it. At least, that was the excuse he would tell anyone should anyone care to ask. It seemed that once a week or so, someone would claim to have seen the young hero and the Prophet would spend the next few days weighing up if it was true or not.

The latest claim had come from Zacharias Smith, had Draco had had a good laugh over that. It was well known that Harry disliked Smith almost as much as Harry disliked him. Yet Smith had claimed that he had Potter had shared a beer together in a Los Angeles night club.

Was that plausible? No one seemed to think so, at least, no one who wrote for the Prophet anyway and more and more claims had Harry in different countries. It wasn’t unusual for wizards to tour the world in the youth and no one could deny that Harry didn’t deserve some time to explore and travel – but hadn’t he done so already? Draco racked his brain, he was sure Potter had already travelled about.

Sighing in frustration, Draco padded softly into the kitchen, and carelessly flicked his wand towards the fridge. With more flicks of his wand Draco quickly fixed himself a healthy, light lunch and reviewed everything he knew about Potter and then stopped himself.

He took a calming sip of chilled water and reminded himself sternly that he did not care. Potter could do whatever he wanted, it had no effect on him, or his life. It wasn’t like they were even friends. Draco snorted to himself, he doubted very much that Potter had spared a single thought about him since he had left England.

He needed to stop doing this.

~*~

Harry landed hard, in some dark, smelly alleyway. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, hands reacting in time to stop him smacking his head into whatever the water on the ground was. He was still for a moment, willing his stomach to churning to no avail. He heaved, retching on cold, wet, slightly sticky and grimy ground. _Lesson learnt_ , he thought to himself. _Portkeying while drunk is a bad idea_.

Once he was sure he wasn’t going to be sick anymore, he slowly stood. He had no idea where the hell he was, he had brought the portkey from a good looking Welsh man without asking what the pre-set location was. Part of him had stopped caring.

After leaving Los Angeles, he had headed to less crowded spaces, taking him away from reliable news. Three weeks or so later, he had found himself in Amsterdam. Needing to take out more money, he had begrudgingly headed to nearest wizarding bank, only to discover someone had blocked his access to the Potter Vaults. The Weasley’s had cut him off from his own vaults, to try and force him to return. He hadn’t even known they had had the power to do that. They didn’t keep that power for very long. Taking back control of his money, Harry had made damn sure no one else would ever be able to tamper with anything in his, or his parent’s names ever again.

_Try to stop me now, bitch._

Harry drowned out his anger with the Weasley’s by turning to even more drink. It wasn’t long before he found himself blacking out and risking hospitalization. He was a drunk, not a moron. He continued to move about at random, his roaming aimless and some might say even pointless. A part of him knew and agreed, but a larger part of him refused to go back. Going back meant having to come face to face Ginny; facing the reality of a relationship that was beyond saving; facing the likely wrath of his friends for worrying them. He wasn’t ready to face all of that. He wasn’t ready to go back to play the Golden Boy for the Ministry.

His anger with Ginny and Weasley’s had for the most part blown itself out. During his soberer moments he could admit to himself that he understood their concern and why they acted the way they had – but still. Returning to England made him feel sick. He wasn’t going back unless he had to.

Pulling his mind firmly into the present, Harry made his way slowly out of the alley. Nothing looked familiar. He shrugged and started walking, stopping often to bend over and catch his breath. Eventually he came across a town. The words on the sign posts and shops weren’t in English and for a moment, he struggled to place the language.

France. He was somewhere in France. Right, he could work with that. He made his way to nearest open door – a bar, and for the first time realised how late it was. His limbs suddenly felt more tired. He pushed his way in and headed for the barman, in broken French, trying to recall what little he had learnt the last time he had visited the country, he asked for nearest hotel. He was directed to one only a few doors away. Harry thanked the man and left.

Two steel grey eyes, watched in shook as Harry Potter left the bar.


	3. Three

Ginny tapped her feet in frustration, she was sitting in a private room in Gringotts, discussing the Potter vaults with a goblin named Kliak, who was being difficult.

‘Madam,’ The goblin sighed ‘Unless you have consent from the account owner-,’

‘I do, I am his _fiancé_.’ Ginny bit out, trying to keep control of her temper. The letter informing her that she no longer had access to Harry’s accounts was crumbled tightly in her lap.

‘That isn’t good enough. The account holder, Mr. Potter, has added extra security to his accounts, so unless you can prove you have permission to access them, I’m going to have to ask you leave.’ The Goblin said flatly.

‘And what counts as proof?’

‘The Potter Seal.’

Ginny pressed her lips together tightly, fury rising in her. She had nothing that had the Potter family seal on it. ‘Listen, I just want to help him.’

‘Mr. Potter clearly doesn’t want your help.’

‘That’s why I have to. He’s just going to waste his fortune on alcohol, if he comes home, we can send him to rehab to sober up-,’

‘-Young lady, we are a bank. What our clients do with the money in their vaults does not concern us. The Potter family has a long history with us, we are not going to jeopardise that because you are “concerned”.’

‘Alright fine,’ Ginny stood, visibly shaking with anger ‘I’m not going to stop trying to help him.’

‘Perhaps you should do what everyone does and mind your own business.’

‘Goodbye.’ Ginny hissed coldly, shoulder’s stiff. She walked out of the room, thinking hard. If she couldn’t make Harry come with by taking away access from his vaults, she would just have to go to Plan B.

Molly watched anxiously as her daughter approached. She had been waiting in the foyer with Arthur as once again, Ginny was trying to sort out Harry’s affairs.

‘Well?’ Molly asked gently.

‘Harry found out what we did and changed who can access his vaults,’ She feel anger curl in her gut at being cut off from the Potter Vaults. ‘So, it’s time for Plan B.’

‘Honey, don’t you think it’s time to stop? Harry knows where his home is, he’ll come back when he’s ready.’

‘I need him, I need my fiancé back.’

Molly studied her daughter, who was rigid with stubbornness and determination. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ She sighed.

~*~

Draco watched in complete bemusement as Harry slowly made his way up the street to the hotel. He stared hard at the messy haired hero before coming to a decision. As Harry came to a stop to throw up again, Draco approached him, hanging back slightly. Oh Merlin, did Potter know how badly he stunk?

‘Fancy seeing you here.’ Draco ventured.

He was only in Paris for a date, which, in turned out had been a bust. He hadn’t expected to find a drunk off his face Harry Potter turning up to his favourite out of the way bar. And now he was following a drunk Harry? Was Harry a violent drunk? Was engaging him in conversation a good idea? Perhaps, but he couldn’t just leave, not when Harry was about to stay in some slum hotel. Harry had kept himself and his family out of Azkaban after the war, he could at least keep Harry out of terrible hotels. Harry straightened up and turned to see who had spoken to him and could have laughed. He should have known.

‘Draco, it’s been a while.’

‘Apparently; have you forgotten how to bathe in the time since we’ve seen each other?’

Harry sniffed himself and winced. ‘Wow, thanks for pointing that out.’

‘You’re not actually going to stay there are you?’ Draco waved a hand towards to the small modest hotel.

Harry leaned against the wall and shrugged ‘Yeah, I’m tired and the hotel has beds. That’s all I really care about right now.’

‘My place has spare beds.’ Draco offered quietly. The two former rivals stared at each other for several heartbeats, the silence broken only by the sounds of happy drunk French people leaving the bar.

‘You have your own place?’ Harry blinked, trying to fight of sleep and keep up with the conversation.

‘Yes, Potter.’

‘Huh, alright.’ Harry would have agreed even if Draco had been offering a spare room in Malfoy Manor.

‘Can you Apparate?’ Harry shook his head, another wave of tiredness washing over him.

Wrinkling his nose, Draco closed the distance between himself and the brunette and pulled Harry close. The other boy made a happy sound, closing his eyes and burying his face in the crook on Draco’s neck. Draco flushed, half pleased that Harry was too tired to know what he was doing, and half disappointed. He had crushed on Harry since their 4th year. Watching Harry fly circles around a Merlin damned Dragon had stirred something inside of Draco. He admired the brunette. Harry had been forced into a competition he was too young for, too unskilled for and had never wanted to take part in; and he still faced the dangers head on, never backing down.

Harry’s head turned slightly, his breath ghosting along Draco’s neck, across his Adam’s apple. Cursing whatever Gods had placed him into this situation, Draco readjusted his grip on Harry and with a soft crack disapparated them.

~*~

There were several things Harry disliked after a night of heavy drinking – the pounding of his head; the nausea; and the look of disappointment on whoever happened to be around him. This morning felt…different.

The tell-tale pounding of his head reminded him that he drunk way too much the night before, the nausea, however, was suspiciously absent. Harry kept his face buried into the pillow, trying to work out what else felt wrong.

Humming. He could hear a soft musical humming from somewhere nearby. How strange. He screwed his eyes up trying to remember what the hell had happened last night. Screwing up his courage, he sat up and opened his eyes. Blinking at the sudden attack of sunlight. Looking to his left, he noticed his glasses sitting on a bedside cabinet; along with a note in a elegant script informing him that the hazy yellow stuff was safe to drink.

The room he was in looked expensive, but somehow not hotel expensive, the room felt much more sophisticated and stylish. The silk bedsheets were a gorgeous pale blue colour. _Would’ve brought out Draco’s eyes nicely_ , Harry thought to himself mindlessly.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, Harry drank the liquid and shudder as it slid thickly down his windpipe. The pounding in his head stopped at once. Intrigued to know just where he was, he stepped out of the bed, for the first time becoming aware that he was wearing a deep green short-sleeved button-down shirt that had holes in it and grey jogging bottoms that didn’t quite fit, exposing his ankles. Someone had dressed him for bed. Huh. Harry walked quietly, following the pleasing sound of the humming, soon enough he found himself in a kitchen and stopped in his tracks.

‘Draco?’

‘Oh, you’re awake. Did you take the hangover cure I left by the bed?’ Draco was sitting at worn looking pine dinner table, wearing a loose-fitting grey shirt and jeans. A jolt Harry jerked back, feeling lust pool in his stomach. Oh no. He had gotten over this. He did not have a crush on Draco bloody Malfoy.

‘Yeah, thanks.’

‘I manged to pour an anti-nausea potion down your throat last night, once I was able to get you into bed. You are terrible drunk by the way.’

Harry winced ‘Oh Merlin, please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing.’

‘Nothing worth blackmailing you over.’ Draco looked Harry over while taking a sip of coffee. He hadn’t done a bad job in redressing the hero. The shirt fitted Harry well. Maybe a little two well.

‘That doesn’t reassure me,’ Harry continued to stand awkwardly as he watched Draco place the coffee cup back down and turn a page in what appeared to a paper ‘Erm, did we – you mentioned a bed – I mean.’ Harry floundered for the right words.

‘No Potter,’ Draco rolled his eyes ‘You were completely catatonic last night.’ Draco wrinkled his nose, finding the idea of being with anyone so out of it personally offensive.

‘Right.’ Harry swung his arms around himself, finding that he had no idea what to do in this situation. No one, not even Ron and Hermione had taken him in after a night of heavy drinking.

‘I used magic to undress you and put pyjamas on you. You managed to cover yourself in sick.’

Harry blushed. It wouldn’t be the first time he would’ve woken up to discover he slept in his own vomit. ‘That – that sounds about right actually.’

‘Do you remember anything about last night?’ Draco looked at him with piercing grey eyes and Harry had to fight the urge not to fidget.

‘Not a thing.’ He replied honestly.

Draco cocked his head at Harry, ‘Do you always get that drunk?’

‘Yes.’ He wasn’t proud of it, but he couldn’t deny it was the truth – or something that was fast becoming it at least.

‘Drinking isn’t going to solve whatever problem you’re not facing.’

‘On the contrary, it’s solving all of my problems.’ Harry wondered over to seat opposite Draco. ‘So, where are we?’

‘My townhouse in Venasque.’ Draco stood and walked over to the coffee machine, turning it on with a flick of his wand and filling the kitchen with the smell of brewing fresh coffee once more.

Harry perked up at the smell of coffee. ‘Where?’

‘You’re in France, Potter.’ Draco rolled his eyes. How did Harry travel around without looking at a map?

‘Oh.’ Harry picked at a loose shirt thread. ‘Thank you,’ He offered softly, not daring to look at Draco ‘Everyone else would’ve let me sleep in the street.’ Harry slammed his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say that.

‘Surely not,’ Draco was wide eyed in horror – he had thought Harry’s circle would be doing everything they could to help him. He placed a cup of coffee in front of Harry, who nodded his head in thanks.

Harry shrugged ‘Yeah. They would. I think they call it “tough love” – which is fine. I get it. Ron and Hermione are trying for a kid, they don’t want drunk Uncle Harry around a child.’

Draco raised an eyebrow at that but decided against commenting. ‘What’s Ginny’s excuse?’ He sat back down, watching the puzzle that was Harry Potter.

‘Oh, Ginny will let me in – and the spend the rest of the day making her disapproval known.’ Harry learnt very quickly that it was not worth going home to Ginny after a night out. It just wasn’t worth the snide comments and jabs.

‘You need better friends.’

‘Moving way -  _way_ on from my problems – seems like you have nice place here. I’m glad you’re doing well for yourself. Are you parents OK?’

Draco was momentarily taken aback by the genuine kindness in Harry’s voice.

‘Yes, they are. They actually live not too far from here.’

‘That’s good.’ Harry smiled before taking a sip of coffee.

‘What were you doing in town anyway?’ Draco asked, curious.

‘No idea,’ Harry shrugged, placing the coffee cup down. ‘I’ve been known to buy pre-set Portkeys to move around. I don’t always ask where they are pre-set to.’

Draco blinked slowly at the young man sitting across from him. ‘It’s a miracle you ever defeated the Dark Lord with stupidity like that.’ At the mention of the Dark Lord, Harry’s whole demeaner changed. Becoming more closed off. Colder.

‘Thanks for letting me stay here last night,’ Harry stood, his green eyes hard like ice. ‘I should be going.’

‘Harry sit, you’re welcome to stay awhile,’ Draco crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back in his chair, looking at Harry critically. ‘You can’t keep bouncing from place to place.’

‘I just need – space.’

‘And lots of alcohol.’

Harry offered Draco a wry grin ‘That wouldn’t hurt.’ He didn’t miss the all too familiar look of disapproval on Draco’s face. He was tired of seeing it. He was an adult, he could drink himself to death if he so decided.

‘Stay,’ Draco offered ‘I’ll even make you a treacle tart.’

‘You don’t know how to bake.’ Harry had a sudden picture of Draco wearing a frilly apron and sniggered.

‘Tut, tut Potter. A Malfoy knows how to not only bake, but to cook as well. I spent my summers under the tutelage of a master chef.’ Draco stood, moving gracefully over to stove, rolling up his sleeves as he did so.

Of course. He should have known. ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’

Draco paused, thinking. ‘Of the top of my head? No, but I think of something, I’ll let you know.’

‘Alright, if you can make a decent treacle tart, I’ll stay.’

‘Perfect. Now, I think you should go get dressed. There are some clean clothes in my wardrobe. I don’t know what you’ve been doing for clothes.’

‘Buying and dumping.’

‘I’m amazed you’ve discovered so many ways to waste money.’

‘It’s not like a buy expensive clothes!’ Harry hurried to explain ‘I just buy cheap, 5 sickle clothing.’

‘I don’t think that makes it better. You are a Potter, you should dress like one.’

‘What’s the point?’ Harry questioned softly, before turning on his heel and heading back to bedroom he had woken up in.

Draco sighed heavily as he watched Harry leave the room. He couldn’t bear to see Harry so defeated. He needed his Harry back – and soon. He turned back towards the table and paper he had abandoned. He might have to start hiding the paper while Harry sobered up. Draco doubted Harry was going to have a positive reaction to the claims his fiancé was currently making…


	4. Four

Rita sucked on the tip of her Quick Quotes Quill with relish, enjoying the pleasure of making her subject squirm. The Weasley bint had connected her a week ago with the scoop of the century – maybe. She let go of the quill and smiled at the girl, in much the same way a shark smiles at a fish.

‘So,’ Rita purred ‘How are you coping?’

‘It’s hard, with Harry away, but I have the support of my family.’ The girl raised her chin, looking proud.

Rita snorted, she had seen girls like this throughout her career. The Weasley chit was pretty, ambitions and was determined to lock her hero into what she thought was the storybook happy ending that she deserved. Surprisingly, Potter wasn’t playing along. If Rita hadn’t been so jaded she may have respected the Potter brat.

‘I’m sure,’ Rita smiled her best fake smile ‘And what has Harry said? I notice he hasn’t returned to England.’

‘Harry – if he knows, would be delighted, which is why we have to find him. This will mean the world to him.’

‘What are you going to do should Harry make it clear that he wants no part of this? Rumours are circulating that he has already moved on to someone else,’ Rita paused and pretended to ruffle through her notes, letting her words seep in. ‘Ah yes, here it is. Mr. Potter was reportedly seen in the Costa del Sol, with up and coming singer Seren Amor, she’s very pretty, very thin.’ Ginny’s eyes flashed angrily. So, she had heard the rumours. ‘Do you have a comment on that? Surely that must be upsetting to hear – considering the circumstances.’

‘I don’t usually like to comment on silly rumours, however. Seren isn’t Harry’s type. Harry prefers more – sophisticated women.’

‘Ah, so you don’t put any stock into Harry’s rumoured steamy weekend affair with socialite Lady Jenna Carmichael? She gave a very detailed account of their – alleged – time together.’

‘Nothing but lies,’ Ginny spat losing her composure for a moment ‘For a start, Harry does not have an ugly back tattoo!’ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain control.

‘Of course not,’ Rita patted the girl's knee in sympathy as Ginny struggled to control her fierce temper. ‘Now you must remember, high blood pressure isn’t good for you! The Healers wouldn’t be pleased.’ She flashed a charming smile at the red-faced girl.

‘I am what Harry wants, what Harry needs, who Harry _loves_ ,’ Ginny straightened in her chair as if the words she was saying was her personal mantra. ‘Without me he is incomplete. I am his fiancé and that isn’t going to change.’

~*~

It didn’t take long for Draco to notice the subtle signs of Harry’s alcohol dependency. The brunette hand’s twitched almost constantly, as if Harry was refraining from grabbing a drink. By mid-afternoon, it was clear that Harry was at breaking point.

After dressing in some Draco’s old clothes (and somehow still managing to look good, much to Draco’s dismay) Harry hadn’t been be able to settle. He had offered to help Draco in the kitchen, but lost interest quickly. He had gone out to soak up the sun but had only been out half an hour before declaring that he was “bored.” Draco was at a loss, Harry clearly needed help, Draco was unsure how to give it.

‘How can you not have anything to drink?’ Harry had searched every single cupboard, much to Draco’s amusement. He had sent everything to his father to keep safe while Harry had been sleeping. He was more than willing to have Harry stay – but not if he was going to get drunk off his arse.

‘First, a Malfoy only drinks in company -,’

‘- _I’m_ company Malfoy! -’ Harry huffed. He flopped face down on the leather sofa, in Draco’s living room.

Draco gulped and looked away. Harry had a cute butt. ‘- Such as a dinner party, Potter and second, a Malfoy likes being in control of their mental facilities at all times.’

Harry had a sneaking suspicion he was being insulted but chose to ignore it. He turned his head, so he could speak. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Sweat was beginning to form in small beads on Harry’s forehead. ‘You’re posh. You must have a Brandy, or Port or a Sherry around here somewhere.’

‘No, afraid not.’ Draco pulled a disgusted face. Harry really didn’t care what he drank, as long as he got wasted.

‘Didn’t you say your parents lived nearby? We could, I mean you could -,’

‘No, I am not inviting my parents over to give you an excuse to drink.’ Draco bit out sternly.

‘Fine,’ Harry let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I’m going out then.’ He pushed himself up into a sitting position. Draco, who had been standing with his arms folded in the doorway, rolled his eyes heavenwards, begging for patience from a higher being.

‘I’m going with you, I seriously doubt you’d be in any state to Apparate back.’ Not including the fact that Harry didn’t where to Apparate back to.

‘I don’t need a babysitter,’ Draco merely raised an eyebrow at Harry.

‘I can go without a drink.’

‘All current evidence to the contrary.’

‘I can. Watch me.’ Harry’s hand shook, belying his statement.

‘For Merlin sake, Potter drink a double shot of espresso, it’ll take the edge off.’

Harry huffed, but took Draco’s advice.

~*~

Molly paced the kitchen, deep in worry. Ron and Hermione had arrived an hour ago, clutching the latest edition of Witch Weekly. Ginny had arrived soon after, tears streaming down her face. This was all no longer getting out of hand but was in the process of going completely of the rails.

‘You cannot talk to that woman anymore.’ Molly informed her daughter sternly. The young adults had sat down at the kitchen table. Molly’s first instinct was to push plates of food in front of them, especially the girls. She pointed her wand at the kettle and settled for making everyone tea instead.

‘Gin, you know you can’t trust Rita,’ Hermione moved her chair closer to her troubled friend. ‘She twists everyone’s words.’

‘I know, but. Harry’s going to hate me.’ Ginny’s shoulders sagged. She didn’t trust Rita, but she hadn’t expected the woman to single handily turn the press against him in such a cruel manner. Hadn’t Harry been through enough? He had defeated the Dark Lord, he deserved more respect from the likes of Rita.

‘He would never hate you,’ Ron rushed to reassure his sister ‘You two just need to work things out.’

‘Right,’ Molly grasped at this, in part it was true, but time was running out. Something told her that Harry had no idea what the media was saying and when he found out. She winced, she couldn’t see how Harry would never forgive Ginny.

Her eyes glanced back at the latest press clipping. Witch Weekly’s headline gnawing at her the most ‘ _Harry Potter: Everything Wrong the World’s Most Spoiled Brat_.’ Underneath, Harry sulked on the morning’s Prophet. ‘ _Harry Potter Abandons Fiancé Who Needs Him_.’ Since Ginny’s latest interview with Rita Skeeter the press had turned on her adopted son. No longer did they care where he was, with the news Ginny had given Rita, Harry was now being portrayed as someone unable or perhaps unwilling to “man up” (as one magazine had put it) to his responsibilities.

‘I’ll release a new statement and -,’

‘Enough,’ Molly ordered quietly. ‘No more statements. No more interviews. No more talking to the press. From now on this stays within the _family_.’ She paused, collecting her thoughts. ‘We can’t control the press any longer, so we have let them get bored with calling him a terrible person. We know he isn’t, he knows we know that. So, from now on, we just sit tight and let Harry make the next move.’

~*~

‘I have a question.’ Harry was sitting by the pool, his legs in the water. The French sun warming his skin and bringing out a tan.

‘If you must.’ Draco was reading a book on a sun lounger. It gave him the opportunity to peer over the book every time Harry decided to swim laps around the pool and Merlin, was that a sight. Watching Harry wearing nothing, but a tight pair of blue swimming trunks was a pleasurable torture.

‘Where is the best place to shop for decent clothes?’ Harry was well aware of what Draco thought of his dress sense.

‘For you or do you mean in general?’

‘Is there a difference?’

‘How do I say this nicely? Yes.’

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco and pouted. ‘I need new clothes. I can’t keep wearing your old ones.’

‘Fair enough. Hmm, I know just the place for you.’ He was going to take Harry shopping. Draco tried very hard not to squeal in delight, that would be a very un-Malfoyish thing to do.

Harry lifted his legs from the water and turned to face Draco. ‘Thanks,’ Harry took a steadying breath ‘I’m assuming you’re hiding the _Prophet_ from me because the press is tearing me a new one.’

Draco squirmed uncomfortably. ‘That’s part of it.’

Harry was doing so well. Draco didn’t know just how bad Harry’s drinking was, but he could make an educated guess based on the symptoms he had seen. In the short time that Harry had been a guest in his home, he had made positive progress. Draco wasn’t about to fool himself, Harry had deep psychological issues that were the cause of the drinking (and Draco could make some very educated guesses about those too, and the they all led back to the Dark Lord) that Harry would need time with a professional to deal with. He wasn’t going to overcome his problems by hanging out and buying decent clothes. It was never that simple and never that easy.

‘Draco, I will eventually find out about whatever is being said, care it give me a heads up?’ Harry cocked an eyebrow at the blond.

‘After you’ve been tailored.’

‘Sure.’ Harry smiled, it was deal he was willing to make, after all, how bad could shopping with Draco be?

~*~

As Harry soon discovered, having Draco help him shop for clothes was not only bad, it was downright terrifying. It was also, even more worrying - fun. 

Draco had arranged a portkey to some posh Paris clothes store (Harry didn’t even attempt to pronounce the store name; his French wasn’t that good.) Draco, though, was in his element.

Draco had simply strutted into the place, pointed at Harry while grimacing and speaking in rapid French and then smirked. Harry found himself surrounded and dragged into a changing room, stripped of his clothes and then sized up by unimpressed sale assistants.

Three and half tortuous hours later, Harry finally had good clothes. Draco had insisted that Harry brought not only good muggle clothing but good wizarding robes as well. It had cost him a fortune.

They had left, clutching a small army of clothes bags. Draco grinning like a cat who had got the cream. Now all Harry had to do, was put everything away and show off to Draco.

No, not show off to Draco. How strange he would even think that. He didn’t care if Draco liked how he looked, did he? No, of course not. Harry fingered a tight pair of jeans that made the sales assistants make pleasing comments thoughtfully. Well, maybe he could show off a little…

~*~

Harry sat patiently, wearing a new silk deep purple shirt, adding an intensity to his green eyes, paired with a pair of flattering black straight cut jeans. When he had walked into the kitchen that morning, Draco’s reaction of had been priceless. The other man had spotted, almost dropping his morning coffee as he stared at Harry.

Draco had excused himself and left some time ago, making Harry laugh and blush. He had known, through the school grape vine that Draco had had a crush on him. Actually, seeing that crush, was quite something else. Questions were beginning to form on Harry’s mind. Questions that he was trying his best to ignore. He was not crushing of Draco back. He had a fiancé (ok, not one he liked anymore, but that was another issue.)

‘Right, are you ready?’ Draco walked back in, clutching all the press he had been trying to keep from Harry.

Harry pulled himself from his thoughts and smiled at Draco. ‘I can handle bad press y’know.’

‘Hmm,’ Draco placed the stack of paper down in front of Harry, followed by a glass which he filled with whiskey.

‘You’re letting me _drink?_ ’ Draco had _alcohol?!_ Harry tucked this information away, he could search Draco’s house later.

‘I’m giving you _one_ double shot.’ Draco gave Harry a warning look.

‘Oh, come on it can’t be that -,’ Harry had picked up the first Prophet articles. He stared at the headline for a very long moment. Quickly, Harry scanned the article, his face growing angrier by the second.

Harry threw the Prophet to across the table and begin flicking through the rest of the headlines. He stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor.

‘I’m going to go have a lovely little chat with Ginny.’

‘Thought you might, here,’ Draco held out a small gold circular keyring. ‘It’s a portkey, in case things don’t work out.’ Harry nodded his thanks with a sharp jerk of his head, eyes ablaze and then disapparated with a loud _Crack_! That echoed throughout the kitchen.

Draco sighed and began tidying the kitchen up, eyes falling on the Whiskey glass Harry hadn’t touched. A small smile appeared on his face and he hummed quietly to himself as he cleaned up.

~*~

Harry knocked on the Weasley’s front door. He had never knocked before entering before, but he needed to try and calm at least. Being at the Burrow, in the Weasley’s yard would have once soothed his anger. It was hard to find the place soothing when the reason for his ire was hiding inside.

‘Harry!’ Molly opened the door and wrapped him in a hug before he had a chance to react. He returned the hug half-heartedly.

‘Where is she?’

‘Ginny’s at work, but if you need to speak to her I can Fire Call her.’

‘She works? That’s new.’ Harry bit his tongue, Molly wasn’t the target here. Ginny was the target. He could at least hold back the snide remarks in front of Molly.

Molly ignored the remark and ushered Harry into her home, bustling with joy at seeing him again, even if he had only returned because of Ginny’s claims.

‘Make yourself at home dear; there’s fresh tea in the pot.’ Harry watched as Molly flustered around him, with a small smile. He regretted his earlier outburst. Molly didn't deserve that. 

He could never be mad at his second mum. He wondered into the kitchen and spotted the large pile of press clippings Molly had gathered. It was clear she had been collecting them from some time, having even more than Draco. Having nothing better to do, while he waited, he made himself and Molly tea and then sat down to read some of the articles in more detail.

‘I did tell Ginny this was a bad idea,’ Molly walked into the kitchen, looking sad.

‘You and I both know that once she gets an idea in her head, nothing can stop her,’ Harry ran a hand over his face in frustration. ‘I made you some tea, by the way.’ He pointed at the steaming cup on the table.

‘I’m not going to pretend that I know all of the problems between you and Ginny but I am always hear if you need someone to talk to.’

Harry blinked away tears, ashamed of the way he had made Molly worry ‘I’m sorry for being such an ass.’

‘Oh Harry.’ Molly walked over to him and wrapped him a tight hug, resting her chin on top his messy hair. She pulled back just in time to hear the Floo burst into life. ‘Good luck.’ She whispered before stepping out, giving the two some privacy.

‘Harry! You’re back!’ Ginny's joy at seeing the man she loved was cut short when she saw the dark look on his face. Ginny paused in the doorway of the kitchen, eyeing up Harry and trying to work out the best way to continue.

‘Ginny! You’re a liar. How cute.’ Harry laced his fingers around the mug, trying to remain calm. He almost wished he had drank the shot he had been offered to steel himself against the woman in front of him.

‘I am not a liar.’

‘Then it’s not mine.’ Babies did not magic themselves into existence. If he wasn’t the father, then, logically, someone else had to be.

‘Who else's could it be?’ Ginny sighed and carefully sat in a seat near to Harry. He narrowed his eyes and her.

‘Wanna explain how it’s mine, we don’t even share a bed anymore Gin.’

‘Not a bed, no…’

Harry paled as he remembered. ‘Shit.’

‘This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, maybe this is just what we needed.’ Ginny tentatively placed a hand over Harry’s, her brown eyes locked onto his and begging him silently to come around.

‘Oh yeah,’ Harry sneered ‘Having kids to fix relationship problems works _all the time_.’ Harry’s eyes drifted back over all the headlines berating him for being not only being a bad father, but a cheating one at that. ‘I don’t want this. Not with you.’

‘Harry-,’

‘I don’t even want to be with you anymore,’ Harry paused and look directly at Ginny ‘We – if you want to – can have this kid, just not as a couple.’

Ginny stood and knelt in front of Harry, reaching up and gripping his face in her hands. ‘Do you really want our child to grow up in separate homes? Harry, I know how much being a family means to you.’

‘Being part of a _loving_ family means everything to me. I don’t love you anymore Gin, truthfully, I’m not sure I ever did.’

‘We could try, you could learn. We can do this, together.’ Ginny rested her forehead against his lap, her hands clutching tightly at his arms. Harry was home and she wasn’t about to let him leave without a damn good fight.

Harry had never felt more trapped. He truly didn’t want to be with Ginny, but a _baby_. A child of his own, a chance at being part of a real family – like his parents, could he really turn his back on that? His mind turned towards Draco – the way blond’s eyes followed his butt as he walked (and didn’t think Harry noticed), the way he hummed when he was lost in something – be that cooking or reading. The way the sun caught his eyes. Harry swallowed around the lump his throat and ignored all his instincts telling him this was bad idea. He couldn’t think about Draco anymore. He was stuck with Ginny now.

‘Alright, so - so I guess the wedding is back on then?’ Harry asked, it was the last thing he wanted, but Ginny let out a happy squeal, kissed him firmly on the lips and then finally let him go.

‘Everyone is going to be so happy, Harry. This is all for the best.’

Harry seriously doubted that.

~*~

Draco stared gloomily at the latest _Prophet_ headline. Harry was back in England, and a wedding date had been set. Harry and Ginny were “happy” and “delighted” with the pregnancy (the look on picture Harry’s face told a very different story.)

Draco pushed the paper away angrily. He should have expected that Harry would resume his relationship with Ginny. As angry as Harry might have been, a child was involved now and that changed everything.

He would send Harry’s belongings to him in the mail and that would be that. Harry wasn’t his, could never be his, not when Ginny could give Harry everything he couldn’t. He would never be able to give a biological child. A family. Ginny could, and she clearly relished that. Ginny had stolen any chance of a growing – _something_ between himself and Harry and Draco had never hated her more.

~*~

‘I need your help.’ Ginny was out with Hermione, picking a bride’s maids dress for the slightly older woman.

‘Oh? With what?’ Hermione had just spotted a pale pink dress and pulled it out to look at. Ginny wrinkled her nose.

‘With brewing some lust potions.’ Ginny admitted softly. If anyone could help her, it was the brightest witch in Hogwarts’ history.

‘Why on earth would you need those for, considering your current state?’ Hermione looked at her friend, polite bafflement on her face.

Ginny looked at her but said nothing.

‘Oh no,’ The pieces suddenly came together in Hermione’s mind. ‘Ginny tell me I’m wrong, tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.’

‘It was the only way.’ Ginny said quietly, not daring to look at Hermione.

‘Congratulations, this a is truly creative way to make sure Harry hates you.’

‘He won’t, not if never finds out.’

‘No, you are leaving me out of this,’ Hermione glared at Ginny ‘You want to make a mess of your life, go right ahead. Please try and spare a thought for everyone you’re going to hurt.’

‘No one is going to get hurt, I can’t let that happen. This has to work, _it has to_.’


End file.
